"Doctor Francis will see you now," the receptionist said after a few minutes.
She collected the box, ensured the killer claw was pointed away from her body, and walked through the door indicated by the white-haired receptionist.
Doctor Francis, like the woman out front, was in her mid-fifties. She wore what Sam called a power suit under her unbuttoned white coat — a tight fitting, no nonsense outfit that acknowledged her femininity but said hands-off. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and undoubtedly dyed. Her face was natural, unmarred by makeup or face-lifts. A woman proud of her looks and her age.
A woman whose very presence itched energy across Sam's skin.
"And what can we do for you and Kahn today?" The vet's voice, like her looks, was striking and powerful.
She placed the box on the table and carefully pulled the cat out. It continued to growl its displeasure. "He's overdue for his shots."
The doctor nodded and walked across to the cupboard. "Haven't seen either of you here before, have we?"
"No. We just moved here."
"Oh yes? Where from?" The doctor's voice was flat. Making small talk through habit, not interest.
"Elwood." She hesitated. The doctor slipped a white glove on and moved back to the table. "Park Street. You know it?"
"Lovely area," O'Hearn murmured, bending to examine the squirming, hissing feline.
Sam regarded her steadily. No reaction whatsoever to the location or street name. She'd have to push a bit harder. "I used to think so. But a neighbor of mine was murdered the other day."
The doctor glanced up. The shock in her face didn't quite reach her eyes. "How horrible. Did you know him well?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I did. I have an interview with the cops tomorrow."
She continued to examine the cat. "Nasty."
"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it."
"Nor would I. Kahn's in excellent condition."
"That's good. He's been a little off his food. Not impressed by the change of housing, I think."
"Just keep him inside a while, and he'll be fine. Hold him down, will you?" She took a needle out of the cupboard. "Why do the police want to interview you?"
She grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck. It responded by trying to twist around and shred her hand. "Routine, I think. I was just unlucky enough to be in the building at the time."
"Did you see anything?"
"No." She hesitated again and frowned. The doctor watched her almost too carefully. "Though I saw the postman arrive. I swear he had something live in one of the parcels. I could hear it scratching around."
"It's illegal to send animals through the post. They should hang the person who did that."
"They'll probably get a pat on the head and a warning not to do it again."
"Yeah, the courts don't seem to care these days." She injected the growling cat, somehow avoiding the razor sharp claws it flung her way.
"That's it. If you both head back to reception, I'll write up the bill and send it out."
She nodded and put the squirming feline back into the box. It was easy to see why this particular cat hadn't had any recent shots. Kahn was definitely a killer. She just had to hope the box would hold up till she got him back to his owner.
She headed back to reception and paid the fee. All the while, the back of her neck itched. Someone watched her. Someone with death on her mind.
After seat-belting the cat carrier into the back seat, Sam climbed into the front and got out the viaphone. The SIU's digital receptionist answered on the second ring.
"Christine, could you patch me through to workstation 1934?"